Life would be easier if I hated you
by Waffles7
Summary: Lies, manipulation, and power moves have been a part of their relationship for the past century. What happens when a moment of honesty breaks through? AmeRus


AN: Wow, this turned out ten times longer than I thought XD. Anyways, I started a hetalia roleplay website, and it has gotten my Ivan and Alfred muses going wild, so had to write a story for them! Also, it was my birthday yesterday, so wanted to write something for myself as a present. They truly are my OTP. Alfred and Ivan are so similar and yet there is sooo much miscommunication between them. Anyways, hope you like! Sidenote: Totally looking for a France, England, and Canada for our roleplay site. If you're interested, PM me! ^.^

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To say Alfred was angry would be an understatement. The situation in Ukraine continued to grow out of hand, and the reason behind it sat right across the room from him. The blondes eyes narrowed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest instead of usually grabbing and sucking down his soda that laid untouched on the table. The bastard was attempting to start up a new cold war. His display of military force the same day NATO did their own exercises, accusing Alfred of being a power hungry manipulator when he went after evil doers in FIFA, and bullying Ukraine into submission under the guise of a civil war. It all drove the young usually vibrant nation to shake in fury. He thought they had finished this shit, and yet here they were playing the game all over again.

"Do you think it is wise to get involved in an internal matter?" Ivan asked with that sickening sweet fake smile he constantly wore as he responded to Germany making recommendation to help train Ukrainian soldiers to help fight against the rebels.

A half bark laugh left Alfred at the question, an obvious eye roll occurring. "Internal my ass!" he snapped, "Why don't you stop sending troops in, Russia, and then we'll see how long this matter last."

Alfred's sharp blue eyes met his violet ones as they locked to one another. The entire room went tense. He knew Ivan was not as strong as he once been during the Cold War, but the power still radiated in the room. People liked to accuse Alfred of being a moron, and he often played into the perception. It made it easier to surprise people when they had lower expectations. He might laugh, joke around, and mutter off crazy awesome ideas when they came to mind, but he also had not become the first World Superpower by pure luck. He knew the facts. Russia was growing stronger. It scared him, it did, but in all truth, it excited him just as much.

Russia…Ivan…always pushed him to do better, be better, to win. Even when they had been on better terms, before communism ruined the man, Ivan had been there to support him even when Alfred doubted himself. His supportive letters during the Revolutionary War still laid tucked away in the basement of his Arlington home. Or during the Civil War…the larger nation had gripped his chin so tightly forcing him to lock with his violet eyes, even as the Southern voices screamed in his head, telling him to fight for the Confederacy, literally tearing him apart from the inside, but for that moment all he heard was the man's voice.

 _You are not weak, Alfred F. Jones. You make your own destiny. Now prove to me you can do this._

The words silenced it all and cleared his mind. He remembered the struggle to get up off the ground, and how Ivan had not helped him. Ivan had watched with careful eyes, expecting him to win, and Alfred couldn't disappoint him. Alfred had pushed himself off the ground and stabled himself. A grin pulled across his face as he answered back, "Time for me to win this war." And in return, he received one of the Russian's genuine smiles.

Ivan pushed him. Ivan had always pushed him, and he hated him and loved him for it. He sometimes wished they could go back to the days where he could call Ivan a friend, but even as his enemy, Ivan made him a better and stronger person.

So yay, Alfred was pissed, furious actually, wanted to pull that stupid scarf as tight as he could until the man's eyes bulged out, but a deeper part was ready for the challenge.

"Ah the rumors again. You always enjoyed exaggerating. Life is not one of your Hollywood films, America," the Russian responded with the same smile, the violet eyes not leaving his. The nations sitting next to Alfred and Ivan seemed to scoot away further in their seats. It might not be the Cold War anymore, but all the nations remembered the fights that had erupted during the time, and no one wanted to be a causality should one break out now. "Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union for many decades. It is expected that some within her borders might wish to return home," he answered sweetly, his hands moving to touch his sister's shoulder at his side without breaking eye contact. Ukraine appeared deathly ill and pale. She forced a smile for her brother, but Alfred could see the terror in her eyes.

"Don't touch her!" Alfred shouted as he snapped out of his seat, his fisted hand slamming against the table, causing the others in the room to jolt in panic, except for Ivan who did not even flinch.

He only giggled that childishly fake sound that only pissed off Alfred more. "I am not allowed to touch my own sister? You truly have become overbearing," he remarked, though Alfred caught the anger beneath the other's eyes as well.

"Alfred, sit down. This is not the time," he heard Arthur next to him, but he did not move. He wanted to bury his fist into that smiling face.

A loud cough interrupted the meeting, and everyone's eyes turned to Germany except for Russia and America. "Tensions are rising high and we only have thirty minutes left for the day. We will end the meeting early and reconvene tomorrow."

It felt like a breath everyone had been holding released at once. Some gathered their stuff quickly to leave, and conversation started to grow around them, but Alfred eyes had not left the Russians. "Come on Alfred," he felt Arthur tugging at his sleeve, "I'll even take you to that bloody unhealthy food establishment you enjoy so much." The jerk on his sleeve became a bit harder, and his eyes shot to Arthur with the same hatred he had been giving to Ivan. Arthur's eyes widened at it, and he saw the strange fear on his father figure's face.

Alfred quickly snapped back with a huge grin and a laugh, "Dude, you have no reason to be giving flank to Mickey D's. Have you've tried your food?" he laughed harder, as Arthur's face returned to an annoyed furrowed expression.

"My food is delicious!" the Englishman snapped, gathering up his items.

"Mon ami, denial is the first stage," Francis said to his side.

"Shut up, frog!" Arthur smacked him on the head, as Alfred continued to laugh and head to the door with the others.

Ivan watched the American leave the room. His laughter filling the room until it left into the hallway. His smile still stayed on his face as the others left, but his hand had been in a fist underneath the table since the boy had decided to voice his ridiculous opinions. Alfred always felt the need to interfere in everyone's' business whether they wanted it or not out of some strange sense of heroism. He should not be involved with his sister's affairs. The American had no business with it. Ivan did. It was his sister. His family. He loved his family deeply and cared for them more so. He wanted them close to protect them from the culture that continued to spread like an epidemic across the world. Everyone was so quick to forget the financial crisis and the mess within the Middle East, all caused from a boy playing adult far too soon. Ivan was only trying to protect those close to him, and yet they accuse him to be the monster.

He turned to share his annoyance with Lithuania, but it appeared he had already left. Actually, everyone had left, leaving Ivan once again….alone. The smile on his face finally fell, and he let out a sad sigh. He was always alone these days. It was his punishment for failing to keep the Soviet Union together, for becoming too weak to protect them. He tried so hard to make friends, but every kind word or friendly gift led to the hopeful future friend quickly thanking him and running away. He did not understand. He tried so hard, and Alfred who tried so little accomplished the task with ease, even as the boy shoved his values down the others' throats. He stood and picked up his items on the desk. He did not have anyone to meet, or friends to go to the bar with. He did not have any plans for dinner or friendly gatherings to occur.

It would be himself, once again.

His heart pulled in his chest, and he tried to ignore the dead object that had not beat in many many years but could still inflict sad emotions through his form.

He went to the hotel and to his room. He would read a book or knit and then attempt to get to bed early, except he expected that he would have troubles sleeping again. Since the fall of the Soviet Union…nyet, even during the Soviet Union, he had difficulties sleeping. Memories, paranoia, too many thoughts always clouded his mind in bed, and he never could settle their rustling.

There had been a time when he slept easily, when he laughed freely, and felt happiness he never hoped to deserve. But as all good things in his life, it had been fleeting and likely all _lies_. His hand on his as his hand help guide his brush along the mane of his horse, and the nuzzling of the warm blonde's face against his neck before the boy whispered, "You look absolutely ridiculous in a cowboy hat."

The laughter that left his chest had been genuine, and he playfully turned to peck the boy's nose. "You're the one that wanted to take me to Texas to show me the rough life," he had said causally, so easily. It had always been easy to be happy with Alfred, his addicting smile and radiant personality. He made Ivan younger, but there was so much more. When he grew to know Alfred, he saw himself. The desire to be strong, the dreams to reach the stars, the need to always be in control, and the constant fear of failure. He thought he understood Alfred and Alfred him. He had trusted him. He had loved him….

But when Ivan had needed him, needed Alfred to be his hero. When he had needed someone to take his hand and tell him it would all be alright, as he stared at the little girl drowning in her own blood in the snow, the only thing that had been in his hand had been the gun he used to shoot her.

Alfred did not love him, and that fact had broken his heart. More importantly, it proved how foolish he had been to think he ever had.

Alfred was a power hungry spoiled brat with a silver spoon in his mouth. He hated him. He hated what he stood for, hated how he had taken all his family and friends away from him, hated how he stuck his nose where it did not belong, but yet, he respected him because he had accomplished what Ivan hoped to in only a short few centuries. He respected his strength and…that beautiful smile that always lit up a room.

He slammed his hotel door shut and went to his bed. He collapsed in the bed with a groan and tried to ignore the thoughts. Ivan was in the right. He would get stronger. He would win. He would beat America.

He rolled into bed and picked up his book, flipping to the page he left off on. Night came quickly as Ivan read through the trashy romantic novel about a sailor and a bar maid. He was three chapters from the end when a heavy knock came to his door. His brows furrowed, and he glanced at the clock. It was eleven o'clock at night. He himself should be heading to bed soon, but the book had pulled his attention from sleep. Who could be knocking on his door so late? He rarely had visitors at all, but certainly not this late.

The hard knock sounded again, rougher and more demanding.

"I'm coming," he remarked to the door, as he placed a bookmark in and laid his book on the nightstand. He went to the door and peered in the peephole. His eyes widened for a moment before he opened the door. He looked at the American standing there with an angry glare. It almost made him laugh. He smiled, "What are you doing here, America?"

If he hadn't been pondering that very question, he would have noticed the boy's fisted hand and smell of alcohol on his breath. He would have been prepared when the boy's fist came flying to his face and hit him hard. His head rang as it snapped back from the momentum. He'd been hit by America before, quite often actually during the Cold War, but during that time Ivan's strength had been at its peak. He could match the boy for every punch he threw. Now, he was growing stronger, but it still shot pain through his skull. His hand jolted to his jaw to check to see if it had been dislocated. It hadn't and he turned to glare at the American, a fresh bruise blossoming on the side of his face. Before he could return the punch, the boy had him by the scarf and jerked him roughly against his lips.

Ivan froze at first in confusion as Alfred's mouth roughly took control of his own, invading it with his tongue. He couldn't stop himself. His hand jolted into the blonde's hair, gripping it tightly and forcing him into a deeper kiss. To say this was the first time this had occurred between them would be a lie. For some reason during the Cold War, their spats and fights always seemed to lead here, and yet it still had been sometime since he last tasted his addicting mouth. His other hand went to the small of his back and forced their bodies together, closing the distance between them.

Alfred had gone out with Arthur and Francis to the bar after dinner, which he knew was a bad idea since he still was in a terrible mood from the meeting. As he drank beer after beer eventually graduating to whisky, he only became more and more angry. How dare Russia act superior! How dare Russia act like he wasn't doing anything! How dare Russia lie to the world! How dare Ivan lie to him! Francis had helped Arthur back to his room, leaving Alfred to go on a little recon work of his own. It had not taken him long to determine the room the Russian was staying in. He did not know what he planned to do when he knocked on the door, but when he saw that insufferable smile, he wanted to punch it off, so that's exactly what he did.

He kept falling for it. Everytime. He wanted to wipe Russia from existence, and yet he wanted him. He wanted the man so much, and he didn't understand why they just couldn't work it out. They had been happy before, hadn't they? He thought they had been, and then stupid communism had to ruin everything. He constantly told himself that he would stop it. He would move on. Russia was the bad guy. Ivan was a bad guy. He tried seeing other people. He dated Kiku for a decade, and it had been a blast, super fun and awesome, but it lacked that something he needed. Arthur and him had even tried to date after a very drunken night had got them into bed, but it had been incredibly awkward. There had to be better people out there. No, he knew there were better people, nicer people, people who actually cared, and yet here they were again. Tongues rubbing against one another as the clothes started to rip off their forms. Jackets falling, shirt torn to shreds, buckles falling apart, pants sliding down, and nails and teeth tearing through skin. He would have him tonight. He moaned as Ivan bit roughly into his neck, sucking on his skin. He returned it, by grabbing the man's hair in a tight grip and ripping his hair back to get his teeth against his jaw, scarping across it and down to his scared neck, teasing his tongue along each bump. He would have him underneath him screaming his name. Ivan would not win tonight. He would not let him.

Ivan moaned deeply without his consent as Alfred attacked his neck. Normally scars killed nerves, and yet the ones on his neck only increase his sensitivity to touch. His shaft grazed against Alfred's, as he felt the boy pushing him back towards the bed, or was it Ivan dragging him back to it. He didn't know. Control kept shifting between them. Ivan did not like to bottom. His first experience with the Mongolian Empire had been terrible to say the least, yet with Alfred it was all up in the air. His hand moved up, wrapping around the American's throat tightly. He then roughly slammed him against the nearest wall, pressing his bare form against the boys.

Ivan had his own share of lovers, but none were like America. China had been one of his first serious relationships followed by Lithuania. He cared for each and still did, in his own way, but as China often said to him when the man was in an unpleasant mood, 'I will lose you to that boy one day,' and Ivan had never been able to argue against him. Alfred felt like his equal. He did not want to want the boy. He hated wanting him. If anything, he wanted to forget him completely, but the fire in his chest, in his body. The constant fight for dominance. How could he not want it? Yet in such struggles, it meant sometimes Ivan ended on top and others Alfred. It was all a part of their game and only one of them could win.

Ivan's hand reached down between them and took hold of both of their shafts within his large hand. He started to stroke them together. He heard the boy moan, but it did not stop the younger nation from pushing against the grip on his throat. Ivan's own hand shook, trying to keep him pressed on the wall, yet his strength did not seem to match until the boy took his lips from him, biting down on his bottom one before kissing him fully again. How could one nation be so strong? His hips bucked forward and matched Alfred's own grinding ones as he continued to stroke them. The touch itself increased the desire buried within him. He wanted to take America for himself and hear his name out of his lips. He wanted to bruise every inch of his skin so all would know who he belonged too.

He felt Alfred's hands against him, moving to his shoulders. Before he could stop him, the boy roughly pushed him across the small distance of the room with enough force to almost knock the air out of him, causing him to lose balance and roughly land onto the bed. It had once been easier for Ivan to turn the tables back to his side, to fight his strength. The current situation only proved how much Ivan needed to grow stronger if he planned to defeat the boy. If he could not match him in the bedroom, he would not be able to do so as a nation. The reality of the situation was becoming quite clear. It was unlikely he would be able to overpower the American, which meant….he swallowed thickly.

He hated being on the bottom.

He pushed himself up on the bed with his elbows and looked up at Alfred's bare form standing above him. His sun kissed skin and corn color hair always reminded him of summer. It always baffled him how someone could be so obnoxious yet so beautiful. He felt the American's sharp blue eyes roaming over his own form, and he felt a tad bit vulnerable, not that he would show it, especially not to the American. He always felt vulnerable in such a position, always prepared for rejection. It was expected of a man who had once been rejected by a hamster.

He pushed the thought away and smirked. He certainly wasn't going to allow the American to think he was in control. "Are you going to stare at me all evening, Fredka, or are you going to fuck me?" he asked with confidence, which only caused the blonde's eyes to narrow and slowly come forward, his body crawling over him like a predator.

Alfred eyes took in each inch of his body as he moved over him onto the bed. Ivan had always been gorgeous. He had a larger frame and muscles to match. His square jawline made him look distinguished, almost untouchable. To many Ivan was untouchable, but not to Alfred. Oh, how he loved to touch the man everyone ran in fear from. His violet eyes and silver hair, all so unique and intoxicating. All his. "You forgot to say please," he smirked as his lips trailed along the Russian's neck to his ear, nipping at his lobe softly as his hands traveled down his chest, feeling each shape of his muscle until moving lower, barely grazing against his shaft as it moved to his thigh. His own erection slid against the heat of his entrance. "It's alright. I'll make certain you're shouting it in a moment," he remarked as he lifted his leg with his arm. He didn't prepare him or warn him. They hadn't done such things in a very long time. After all, it wasn't just about pleasure. They wanted their partner to feel pain as well. He slammed himself into the man.

He would have rolled his eyes if his breathing hadn't been so haggard and the heat in his lower body so overwhelming. He could feel Alfred's shaft near him, his hands, his touch. He barely had time to react as a large intrusion forced itself all the way in. Pain shot down his spine as his body attempted to stretch to accommodate it. He cursed in Russian, and his hands gripped into the sheet. It had been a couple decades since he'd last done this with Alfred, so naturally he had tightened over the years. He did not have time to focus on the pain because Alfred's mouth was on his again, exploring it with his tongue and taking each potential breath. His free hand still roamed over his chest, causing fire to melt through his icy skin. It started slow. He could feel Alfred pull out and then push back in, his own body cringing in response as a wet substance started to make the movement easier, likely his blood. His chest felt heavy with each thrust, and then Alfred pulled his leg further up, breaking the kiss as his pace increased allowing him to press deeper.

He moaned loudly as he pressed up against the bundle of nerves inside of him. His face flushed, almost wishing the American's mouth had been back on his to cover it, especially when he saw that arrogant smirk pass over his features. Alfred continued to press into that spot with more force and speed. Ivan's insides twisted in pleasure, and he gasped for air, panting heavily. His hands reached up, gripping and dragging over every surface of his tan skin. He wanted to ruin it. His nails clawed at his chest and dragged him closer. He could hear the American's own rough breathing, and he wanted more. He needed more. He wanted to see the boy fall apart. His free leg moved on the bed to give him support, and he started to match his hips with the boy's, taking him deeper and tightening around him with each new thrust.

Alfred moaned at the growing pleasure. He knew what Ivan was attempting. He could see right through him. Fuck, he loved it. He loved how even when he dominated him that man still found another challenge. His free hand moved in between them and gripped Ivan's leaking shaft. He started to stroke him to match the pace, and watched as the man beneath him shuttered in pleasure. His mouth opened, his back arched. He heard Ivan curse in Russian and started matching his hips to his.

Ivan couldn't think straight. His mind lost to the pleasure. He kept pounding into that spot, and his touch. He bucked pathetically. He didn't even care. He needed it at this point. He could feel his entire body on edge. His toes curled. There was no stopping it. "Alfred!" he shouted his name, his nails digging into his shoulders as he exploded onto their chest.

Alfred followed quickly behind. The mere sound of his name sent a wave of euphoria through his body. He slammed himself in deep, releasing his seed. He continued to thrust through his high allowing Ivan to milk him for each drop.

As he came down from his high, he collapsed on top of Ivan. His face buried into the larger man's chest as he caught his breath. He could smell his scent on his skin, subtle mixture of pine trees, library books, and vodka. He smiled at the familiar scent as he wrapped his arm underneath him into a hug.

He almost felt comfortable on top of the man, especially as Ivan's hand gently started to caress his hair. His fingers rubbed his scalp in the most soothing of fashion. The anger and aggression seemed to disappear. It felt right to be with him.

"Do you feel better now, Fredka?" he heard his voice ask. His chin tilted up on his chest to glance at his face. The question itself could be kind, but there was always a natural condescending tone in Ivan's voice.

Alfred smirked and kissed his skin, as if placing a brand on his collar bone. "I do, thank-you-very-much," he remarked. His hand never seemed to leave his hair, not that Alfred was complaining, he enjoyed the soothing motions, but it just surprised him. Usually Ivan was quick to become distant no matter the position they found themselves in. Even if Alfred had been screaming out his name earlier instead, in the end, Ivan would be quick to leave.

"Hm," was the Russian's only response. Silence seemed to fill the hotel room, and Alfred might have found it peaceful, if not for the fact that one, he hated silence and two, he could practically feel Ivan thinking.

He pouted his lips. "You plotting something?" he asked, still pressed to the man's chest.

The silence continued until he heard the other sigh. "We should not do this anymore, America."

He felt a heaviness in his chest at the words. Alfred opened his mouth to protest and then snapped it shut. Not that it mattered if they did it or not. Alfred didn't care. He didn't need Ivan. He was the United States of America. He could get anyone he wanted. "You're just being a sore loser," he noted as he shifted on top of him, his arms moving and pressing against the bed so he could look at him.

His eyes found his, and he watched how his violet ones narrowed at the statement before softening again. The Russian ran his hand over his face, sighing again, before his hand fell flat on the bed, and he looked back up at the American. "Alfred it's been three decades since we last were in bed. We only do this when we are fighting, and…nyet, I am done," he responded.

The weird heaviness in his chest seemed to grow even heavier as he spoke, which only made Alfred angry. His blue eyes became sharp as he stared down at him. "You can't just say were done, dude!" he snapped, "For christ sakes, I'm still inside of you." To prove his point, he thrusted his hips against his, causing the other to shift under him. "It's not like this means anything. I still hate you, and you still hate me," he scoffed.

Ivan frowned and then roughly pushed him off without warning forcing Alfred to fall on the other side of the bed. He tried to grab at him, but the man had already moved away and was standing up, his back towards him. His blue eyes ran along the man's bare back and tight ass. Fuck, he could already feel his excitement returning. He groaned in annoyance, and fell back into the bed. He didn't understand why Ivan was being such a kill-joy. "This is not that big of a deal. Our Bosses don't know. Our friends and family don't know. No one knows. Why does it matter, dude? And like you said, the last time was back in the eighties. It's not like we do this regularly," Alfred attempted to justify because in all honest truth, they didn't. He remembered after the fall of the Union. He had been so happy and thrilled, a part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, Ivan and him could go back to being friends like they were in the beginning. However, when he reached out, the man pushed him away. He always pushed him away. He offered for them to hang out. He would go over to him after meetings and ask if he wanted a drink. During the whole reset policy four years ago, he even invited him to come on vacation with him. Each opportunity, he had been rejected. Ivan always had an excuse, someone he needed to see or speak too. There was always a reason they couldn't spend time together, until finally Alfred stopped trying.

The man seemed to be ignoring him, as Alfred watched the taller person turn his head and look down at his ass. He followed the Russian's eye sight to the cum that seemed to be leaking down his thigh. Ivan frowned slightly before he started to head in the direction of the bathroom. "America, you came for what you wanted. Now, why don't you leave," Ivan spoke calmly, not even giving Alfred the respect to look him in the eye as he kicked him out.

He was doing it again. Pushing him away. Damn it. All Alfred wanted to do was lay in bed and possibly cuddle, and instead the asshole was making him deal with this nonsense. Alfred pushed himself out of the bed and quickly followed him to the bathroom, feeling strangely sober. Then again, Alfred's metabolism did crazy things. Before the bathroom door could slam in his face, he caught it with his hand. He felt the force of Ivan still trying to shut it, and he pushed back with the same amount of force until the door started to crack between them. Ivan finally let go, stepping back, causing the door to hit the wall loudly and cracking. Ivan looked at the door. "I'm going to have pay for that," the man mumbled softly.

"Serves you right for trying to kick me out," Alfred bit back, stepping into the bathroom with him, "I am so tired of this, Ivan. I've been trying to be your friend ever since the Soviet Union fell, and you've either avoided me, ignored me, or flat out insulted me. For someone who talks so much about wanting to make friends, you are pretty fucking terrible at it!"

"Watch yourself, America," Alfred could hear the darker tone in the other nation's voice and see the sharpness in his eyes, but he didn't really care. He hated how the man called him America when what they were talking about had nothing to do with their nations. This wasn't about Russia and America. This was about Alfred and Ivan, and how Ivan was being a dick…again.

He continued forward and poked Ivan roughly in the chest. "Watch myself? You're the one acting like an ass. I've only played nice with you, and in return you flat out shut me out," he growled, poking him again. His eyes stayed locked on the nation, and he saw how that totally fake smile appeared on Ivan's face. He hated that stupid smile.

He grabbed his wrist and yanked it away, jerking Alfred's arm into the air. If Alfred wasn't a super power, it likely would have dislocated his entire shoulder. "Always the innocent one, da? You never can take responsibility for your actions. You are an immature spoiled little brat given too much power at a young age," Ivan said chillingly sweet.

Alfred's face flushed with rage. "At least I am not a lonely old bastard who forcefully suffocates his own family to be friends with him," he snapped back.

Sharp pain radiated across his nose and under his cheek when Ivan punched him straight in the face. Fuck, that hurt! His hand shot up to his nose, and he felt blood. The bastard broke it. He cursed. His fingers gripped tighter on his nose, and then with a jerk, he forced the cartilage back into place so it would at least heal correctly. He shot a glare at Ivan who stood before him, seething with his own rage. He let go of his arm after he punched him, and appeared to be standing there shaking wanting to punch him again. "What is your fucking problem?!" he shouted, not caring if someone in the rooms next to them heard.

Ivan's eyes reopened. The purple in them appeared murderous at they locked. "You are," he stated coldly.

This was ridiculous! Yes, they had the Cold War! Yes, they almost destroyed the entire world, but that was just as much Ivan's fault as it was his. And all the shit going on now, Ukraine, Russia's increased military, that wasn't Alfred's fault, that was Ivan's! Ivan was causing the escalation. He was leading them into Cold War II! Yet he blamed him! He never understood it. Everyone always liked to blame him, when all Alfred tried to do was help others like a hero would. Instead, everyone always blamed him. "Don't put your shit on me. You do this to yourself. You suffocate and push people away all at the same time. I have tried, Ivan. I have fucking tried to be your friend!" he shouted as he wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his arm.

Ivan took a deep breath and the shaking appeared to stop. He turned his back to him and went to the shower. Alfred almost shouted at him to stop ignoring him, when he heard the faintest of whispers. He blinked. Did he…

"What did you say?" he asked, stepping forward, as the other man turned on the shower.

Ivan sighed, "Go away, please. I am tired of your presence."

"No, what did you say?" he pressed on.

Ivan shook his head and pulled the curtain of the shower open to get in, but before he could take a step, Alfred had him by the wrist and was yanking him back. "What did you say, Ivan?" he pressed again.

He should not have said it allowed. Ivan internally scolded himself. The boy was like a puppy with a ball in his mouth, not willing to let go until he got what he wanted. He wish he could just snap that little puppy's neck. He looked over the boy. Actually, it was not a bad idea. He could break Alfred's neck, and when the man wakes up, he might possibly forget the whole thing. His ADD mind always seemed to be hopping from one topic to the next like a child on cocaine.

Then again, he suspected Alfred would only be more persistent and mad if Ivan killed him before giving him an answer. He sighed, giving up. The boy would not leave him alone until he pried his answer from him. "I said, why would I want to be friends with the person who broke my heart," his voice tired, "Now, will you leave?" He waited for some type of reaction, but the boy appeared frozen in shock. His mouth a gape, and his blue eyes wide. He rolled his eyes and jerked his wrist free and stepped into the shower. Alfred didn't understand. He never would. The warm water hit his face, and his body visually relaxed. He had loved this idiot, really truly loved him. He would have given him the world, if he asked, if only to see that bright smile in his direction. In return for his love, he had been abandoned and forgotten. He had needed Alfred. He had needed him there as his world fell apart of the red army took over, and yet he hadn't been there, too busy, too busy for him. It didn't surprise Ivan. Everyone was too busy for him, but it had hurt far more than he ever expected it too because he foolishly had thought the boy had loved him in return. He had been wrong, and while he now knew the boy didn't love him, it didn't mean Ivan could flat out stop. He tried. Every day, he tried to stop feeling these thoughts for him. He tried to push them away and focus on the reality. Alfred was selfish and only cared about himself. Alfred wanted everyone to be like him. Alfred wanted the world for himself and would spread his greedy culture throughout the world until everyone agreed with him. He was a selfish attention whore. He should hate him. He represented everything Ivan hated about human nature. Brutal, competitive, tearing down anyone to succeed.

But…

He represented everything Ivan loved about human nature as well. Hopeful, caring, friendly, sacrificing for the ones he loves.

He loved him, and he would always love him, not that he wanted to. It only made every time they ended up in bed together that more painful because in the end, it was fleeting. It was another reminder that Alfred didn't love him, and it hurt. It always hurt, so was it crazy that Ivan did not wish for it to continue? He did not think so. He merely did not wish to be reminded of what he could not have.

"I….I…broke your heart?" the American responded. Ah, it looked like the boy had finally come out of his frozen state. Ivan didn't respond. He gave the boy a glance before turning back to grab the shampoo. He did not want to have this conversation with him, so he decided he would not. He would ignore him until he left. He poured out shampoo in his hand before going to lather his hair.

"You're the one that left…that changed. I didn't," those words caught his attention, and he frowned, turning to look at the boy's smudge bloody face, "You ignored me."

His own eyes narrowed. Alfred always did this. He always blamed him. Everyone always blamed Ivan. Ivan was trying to help his friends and family, and people accused him of land grabbing and instigating situations. There was no point in arguing with him. "It's fine. You didn't feel the same way. I would just like to be left alone," he answered and moved under the water again to wash out the shampoo.

A loud slam could be heard as Alfred hit the side of the shower with fist, causing a dent. Great, he would have to pay for that too. "Stop pretending you were the only one who was hurt! You broke my heart too, you know?" the boy started, his eyes closed tightly, "I loved you, and then…then you just ignored me…flat out pushed me away, and you have been doing it ever since. I thought it was because of your Bosses. I really did. Your Bosses didn't like me, and so you couldn't be with me. I tried to explain it to myself, tried to make sense why you would go from giving me Alaska to wanting to kill me and all my people. It had to be the communism. Stupid pointless fucking communism." The boy snapped, and Ivan found himself confused. He turned, his brows furrowed as he tried to work through what he was saying. "I really thought it was a Soviet Union thing that made you different…but then, after the fall…I thought everything could finally go back to normal. I thought we could…" The boy swallowed before shaking his head, "But, no! You continued to push me away! It wasn't your people, your bosses, your system! It was you! You didn't want me anymore, and fucking fine! I could get someone else if I wanted!"

Ivan didn't say anything and the room became quiet except for the sound of water crashing against the shower floor. Alfred was lying. He had to be. Da, he was lying. He didn't really care about him. The emotions were all for show. "You weren't there," he finally stated.

Alfred looked at him like he had grown a second head. "There? There where?" he asked confused, except somewhat happy that after a century they were finally talking about this. It always felt like the unspoken elephant in the room. They had been in a very serious relationship, which in a blink of an eye ended without reason to Alfred. One day, he had loved Ivan and Ivan had loved him. The next, they hated each other.

Ivan's jaw locked. "During the revolution," he spoke bitterly and went for the conditioner, not looking at him.

Alfred felt even more confused. Yes, he remembered the revolution clearly, mostly because after it ended and Russia became the Soviet Union, everything had changed between them. "I sent aid to you Russia. I did everything I could do in my power to save you from them, but my Boss wouldn't let me send our people to fight. It was a civil dispute. We didn't have business there. But I sent aid…and letters…didn't you get them?" he asked, his hand reached out to touch his wet shoulder.

Ivan jerked away, the bottle of the conditioner falling out of his hand. "Da, letters and aid…that's all ever received…" he remarked bitterly.

"What more did you want me to do then, Ivan? I did all that I could. I hated it as much as you did, but my hands had been tied, not to mention the first World War," he explained.

"What did I want?" Ivan's voice started softly, before he turned off the shower. He then stepped out of the shower into Alfred's personal space. His face stern and eyes dark. "What did I want, you ask?" he snapped, his voice a bit louder. "I wanted my boyfriend, my lover," Ivan's hand reached for Alfred's throat again, slamming him on the wall, "to actually care enough for me to be there when I needed him." Ivan lifted him up against the wall by the throat. Alfred didn't fight but grabbed onto his wrist to keep himself from losing oxygen. "You think I cared about men? Soldiers? Nyet! I didn't want your people dying on my soil for a problem within my land! I would never want to cause you such harm with such an affair. What I needed was you!" He growled, his hand tightening on his throat. "I needed Alfred F. Jones, not the United States of America! Where were you?!"

Alfred felt his heart drop to his stomach as it finally hit him. He had tried. He had tried really hard to get to Moscow to see Ivan, but it had been during the First World War. He wrote letters. He told Ivan he was trying to be there except things kept coming up. He asked Ivan how he was doing, what he could do to help. He asked and pleaded for responses, but Ivan never wrote him back. He really tried to get there, but when he finally made it to Russia…the Soviet Union had already been born…and everything changed.

The grip on his throat loosened as the anger seemed to leave Ivan. "Where were you?" he said softer. "I…I..killed them," he said softly. Alfred could see that Ivan was no longer in this room with him. His eyes darted and were fogged with memories. "I killed my own people. One by one they landed in the ground," he spoke, his hand letting go of Alfred's throat. "My Boss…he came in…and I…shot him. You weren't there. I only needed you there," he kept repeating, as his face falling into his hands, "I killed her…..I killed a little girl….I…."

Alfred's eyes widened as he realized what Ivan was saying. He had always thought it had been the Bolsheviks who had killed the Czar and his family, but it had been…Ivan…

Little Anastasia.

Ivan had loved her.

Shit. He should have tried harder, damn it. He should have ignored his Boss and stupid war and just gone to see Ivan when he didn't receive a response to his first letter. "Ivan…I didn't know…" he said softly, reaching for him again. Ivan didn't jerk away this time when he touched him, and Alfred moved closer. He still appeared trapped in his thoughts. He wrapped his arms around him in a supportive hug. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should have been there," he spoke softly. Ivan stayed stiff in his arms, his breathing hoarse and panic. He knew these types of episodes when you got so trapped in the past you couldn't escape. It happened a lot to Alfred every time he thought of Vietnam.

"Ivan, come back," he pulled back slightly to pull the man's hands away from his face. "Ivan, come back to me," he stared into those clouded eyes, as he caressed his cheek softly, "Come back. I'm sorry." He kissed his lips, not with aggression, but rather something deeper, something that he always felt but had kept hidden since Ivan first started pushing him away. It was slow at first, but then he felt the larger nation slowly mold into it, melting away the past. Their lips opened and followed each other as Ivan's arms slowly wrapped around him as well. It reminded him of the first time they had kissed in that field of sunflowers in Western America. It made Alfred putty in his hands, and he wanted it to continued forever. He wanted what they had again. He had been so stupid not see how hurt this big man had been. He should have known, but now, that he did, they could fix it. Everything would be better again. They could be together. The kiss slowly broke, and Alfred stared at him, this man who constantly challenged him and made him a better person, made him happy. "I truly am sorry, Ivan," his thumb ran over his cheek, "I'm an idiot. I really can be sometimes. I'm sorry." He pressed another kiss to his lips. "But…I have never stopped loving you, never….and…" he paused, he didn't know what he was trying to say, but he knew Ivan must feel it too. He must have felt it in that kiss. You can't kiss someone that way unless you love them. "And I want to continue loving you. We could go back to how things used to be. Before I stupidly messed everything up. We could be together and happy. It would be perfect!" he said and gave him his million dollar smile.

Ivan did not respond at first, which only made Alfred a little nervous. Gezz, he laid all of his cards on the table, you think he might give him a break, but the Russian stood there, searching his eyes for something. Alfred tried to read his thoughts, yet as always, it stayed hidden from him. His smile started to falter as the silence continued until…

"Nyet," Ivan broke away from him.

Everything around him shattered as that word echoed through the room. He couldn't even hold on to Ivan as he slipped from his fingers and grabbed a towel, leaving him alone in the bathroom. It hurt. It really hurt. His breathing became heavy as he tried to take in air to settle the pain, but it only grew worse.

No.

He said no.

But…

He had said he was sorry. He told him the truth, his feelings, and he said no. His hand went to his chest, wanting to pull out his heart so it would stop hurting. Anger flashed over him, and he stormed out, glaring at Ivan. "NO?!" he shouted in a rage, "What do you mean no?! I tell you I love you….and you just….NO?!" Did Ivan not love him? Had he totally misread that kiss? Did he not feel anything for him anymore?! He made a mistake. Yeah, he admitted that, but everyone makes mistakes. Ivan didn't even respond to him. He was ignoring him! "FINE!" he snapped and grabbed his clothes, quickly shoving his limbs into his boxers and pants as fast as he could. "Fucking fine! See how much I fucking care! Be alone the rest of your unforsaken life, Russia!" he snapped, not even caring to zip his pants up or put on his shirt, "You can go fuck yourself!" He stormed to the door, slamming it shut, possibly breaking the hinges as he left.

The anger still fueled his body as he stormed down the hall to the elevator, roughly pressing the button twenty times. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe him. Why was this happening? Why did he keep trying? His breathing was out of control as he finally entered the elevator. He pressed his floor in a hurry. His heart pounded ridiculously fast in his chest. Why was Ivan pushing him away again? He couldn't stop the floodgates from opening as his eyes became wet with moisture. He laid his heart out to him, and he had stomped on it. He…he…

He choked back a sob as his fist went to his mouth, trying to hold the sound back.

Ivan didn't love him.

It all hit him like a wave, and he collapsed onto his knees, as tears streamed down his face. He had been so stupid. He buried his hands into his face as he cried, the elevator ticking down to his floor, but even when the doors opened on his floor, Alfred made no movement to move.

Ivan heard the door slam shut, but he still didn't turn to look at it. He stared out the window, towel still wrapped around his waist. It was a good thing Alfred had not come closer for if he had, he would have seen Ivan's heart on the floor that had fallen from his chest, beating wildly fast on the ground in his blood. He made no move to pick it up. He felt frozen in place.

Lies.

He was lying.

Da, lies.

He did not love him. He did not love him. Tears slowly slipped down his cheek as he took in painful breaths. "You did the right thing," he spoke in a choking sob to himself, "You are protecting yourself."

He nodded, as his tears fell down his cheek and to the floor next to his heart.

 _You did the right thing._

…then why does it hurt so bad?

* * *

This is meant to be a one-shot...but I might make it a two-shot. We will see.


End file.
